Prophetess of Health

Chapter 2: In Sickness and in Health

By Ronald L. Numbers

"If any among us are sick, let us not dishonor God by applying to earthly physicians, but apply to the God of Israel. If we follow his directions (James 5:14, 15) the sick will be healed. God's promise cannot fail. Have faith in God, and trust wholly in him."
Ellen G. White¹

Through the years of uncertainty and hardship one constant in Ellen White's life was poor health. From childhood to middle age she enjoyed few periods without some physical or mental suffering. The story of her life fairly abounds with one sickness after another. She began her public ministry in 1844 with shattered nerves and broken body, "and to all appearance had but a short time to live." Her lungs were racked with consumption, her throat so sore she could barely speak above a whisper. On her extended travels through New England she frequently fainted and remained breathless "several minutes." Her mind on one occasion wandered aimlessly for two weeks. Accidents added to her misery; on one excursion to New Hampshire she fell from the wagon and injured her side so badly she had to be carried into the house that night.²

On several occasions seemingly miraculous healings saved her from imminent death. Not long after her marriage to James in 1846 she became so violently ill for three weeks that "every breath came with a groan." While she hovered between this world and the next, her friends gathered around her bed to pray for divine healing. As one young man, Henry Nichols, pleaded with God on her behalf, a supernatural power seemed to possess him. Ellen described what happened next: He "rose from his knees, came across the room, and laid his hands upon my head, saying, 'Sister Ellen, Jesus Christ maketh thee whole,' and fell back prostrated by the power of God." The following day, while solicitous neighbors inquired about her funeral, she rode thirty-eight miles through a storm to Topsham.³

During a visit to New York City in the summer of 1848 Ellen's cough grew so serious she knew she "must have relief, or sink beneath disease." For weeks she had not slept peacefully through a single night. In desperation she remembered the biblical instructions found in the fifth chapter of James: "Is one of you ill? He should send for the elders of the congregation to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer offered in faith will save the sick man, the Lord will raise him from his bed, and any sins he may have committed will be forgiven." In accordance with these directions, she called in some Adventist brethren and asked for anointing and prayer. The next morning her cough was gone and did not return until the end of her journey.⁴

With divine help so readily available, Ellen saw no reason to resort to physicians. In the concluding paragraph to an 1849 broadside "To Those Who Are Receiving the Seal of the Living God," she counseled her readers not to seek medical assistance:

If any among us are sick, let us not dishonor God by applying to earthly physicians, but apply to the God of Israel. If we follow his directions (James 5:14, 15) the sick will be healed. God's promise cannot fail. Have faith in God, and trust wholly in him, that when Christ who is our life shall appear we may appear with him in glory.⁵

Given the low state of the medical arts at the time, her advice probably did little harm. But it was not the poor quality of medical care that prompted her to write what she did; she simply believed it was a denial of faith and a dishonor to God to go to physicians when God's promise was so explicit.

For at least a few years Ellen White had nothing to do with physicians of any persuasion, regular or irregular. In times of sickness, which were frequent, she trustingly placed her life and the lives of her children in the hands of God. Once, during a temporary stay in Centerport, New York, little Edson became so gravely ill that he fell unconscious and the "death dampness" appeared on his brow. Prayers were offered, but with little apparent effect. His mother grew increasingly concerned. Her greatest fear was not that her baby might die—if that were the Lord's will—but that her enemies would taunt her with cries of "Where is their God?" At last she said to James, "There is but one thing more that we can do, that is to follow the Bible rule, call for the elders." Unfortunately, the only available elder (besides James) had just departed for Port Gibson on the Erie Canal. Undaunted, Ellen sent her husband racing down the towpath five miles to catch him. The good brother willingly got off the boat, returned to the house, and anointed Edson, who responded by regaining consciousness. His thankful mother reported that "A light shone upon his features, and the blessing of God rested upon us all."⁶

Relying on prayer instead of physicians became common practice among sabbatarian Adventists of the early 1850s. In 1853 Anna White, who assisted her brother James in editing the Youth's Instructor, wrote: "I am now living with a people who believe that God is able and willing to heal the sick now, and who when sick, apply nowhere else for aid." The experience of L. V. Masten, a non-Adventist hired by James White to take charge of printing the Review and Herald, illustrates this characteristic. In the summer of 1852 he was dying from cholera under the care of a regular physician when the Whites rescued him and took him into their own home. There he vowed to become an Adventist if God would heal him. He discharged his doctor and "held fast the arm of God and the faith of Jesus." Recovery soon followed. In relating his experience in the Review and Herald, Masten noted the large number of Sabbath-keepers who had "already been snatched from the jaws of death, and in a very short time restored to perfect health, by no other means than by the prayer of faith!" With great passion he urged his new brethren and sisters to have complete faith in God's healing power and to shun even roots and herbs when ill.⁷

In condemning the use of simple botanic remedies, Masten was going to a greater extreme than Ellen White, though there were times when she refused to administer any medication at all. When her first child, Henry, became very sick as a baby, friends recommended Townsend's sarsaparilla, a popular patent medicine. Ellen retired to her room alone and asked for divine guidance. In a vision the Lord showed her that no earthly medicine could save her little boy; so she "decided to venture the life of the child upon the promise of God." When James entered the room and asked if he should send a man for the sarsaparilla, she replied: "No. Tell him we will try the strength of God's promises." That evening Henry was anointed, and the next day he was up on his feet.⁸

Many times during her early public career Ellen White was blessed with the power to heal. Often members of her family were the beneficiaries of her gift. Both her husband, James, and her son Edson, for example, recovered from some form of "cholera" after Ellen had laid her hands on their heads and rebuked the disease in the name of Jesus. But perhaps her most satisfying miracle was the spectacular healing of her ailing mother. In late September, 1849, Mrs. Harmon accidentally ran a rusty nail through her foot and developed a nasty wound. The limb swelled frighteningly and lockjaw seemed certain. Upon hearing of the mishap, Ellen hastened to her mother's side. There, she wrote, "With the Spirit of the Lord resting upon me, I bid her in the name of the Lord rise and walk. His power was in the room, and shouts of praise went up to God. Mother arose and walked the room declaring the work was done, all the soreness gone, and that she was entirely relieved from pain."⁹

Shifting Views on Physicians

Sometime in the early 1850s Ellen's attitude toward physicians underwent a marked change. The first indication of a move toward a more moderate position came in 1851 with the publication of her first book, Experience and Views, which brought together her earlier writings. Deleted, along with the embarrassing shut-door passages, was the admonition from her 1849 broadside never to apply to earthly physicians. No explanation was given.¹⁰

A few years later a tragic incident in Camden, New York, led Ellen White publicly to repudiate her former stand. It seems that a devout Adventist from that town, Sister Prior, had been allowed to die without receiving medical aid of any kind. Immediately rumors began circulating that responsibility for the death lay with Mrs. White, who was known to have counseled against going to doctors of medicine. When word of the incident reached the prophetess, she vehemently protested that she could not possibly be accountable for the sister's death since at the time in question she had been in Rochester, over a hundred miles away. On her next visit to Camden she received a vision, indicating that poor judgment had been used in not obtaining medical help for Sister Prior. "I saw," she said, "that they [the Adventists attending the sister] had carried matters to extremes, and that the cause of God was wounded and our faith reproached, on account of such things, which were fanatical in the extreme."¹¹

In 1860, in the second volume of her Spiritual Gifts, Ellen White carefully articulated her new posture on medical care:

We believe in the prayer of faith; but some have carried this matter too far, especially those who have been affected with fanaticism. Some have taken the strong ground that it was wrong to use simple remedies. We have never taken this position, but have opposed it. We believe it to be perfectly right to use the remedies God has placed in our reach, and if these fail, apply to the great Physician, and in some cases the counsel of an earthly physician is very necessary. This position we have always held.¹²

In view of her counsel just eleven years earlier, the last sentence of this statement is puzzling.

Indicative of Ellen White's changing attitude was her visit to an itinerant doctor in early 1854, apparently her first consultation with a physician since childhood. Throughout the previous winter she had suffered miserably from a variety of complaints: heart problems, inability to breathe while lying down, recurrent fainting spells, and a cancerlike inflammation on her left eyelid. The pain was so intense she had not experienced "one joyful feeling" for months. When a "celebrated physician" came to Rochester offering free examinations, she set aside her reservations and went to see him. The doctor was most discouraging; in three weeks, he predicted, she would suffer paralysis and then apoplexy. His prognosis was not far off the mark. In about three weeks she fainted and was unconscious for a day and a half. A week later an apparent stroke left the left side of her body paralyzed, her head cold and numb, and her speech impaired. She thought this time she would surely die, but after a fervent season of prayer one night, she awoke the next morning free from pain and paralysis. Her physician, upon seeing her, could only exclaim: "Her case is a mystery. I do not understand it."¹³

Despite Ellen White's softening attitude toward physicians, the leading sabbatarian Adventists continued for many years to shun the medical profession.¹⁴ Their preference for prayer over medicine is more understandable if we bear in mind that many of them—including the Whites—regarded illness as sometimes satanic in origin. For instance, when Mrs. White in the spring of 1858 suffered her third "stroke" shortly after receiving a vision on the "great controversy between Christ and his angels and Satan and his angels," she was shown that Satan had tried to take her life to prevent her from writing out what she had seen about him. Against such diabolical attacks, prayer was obviously more efficacious than any medicine.¹⁵

Temperance

Like so many women reformers in America, Ellen White was an enthusiastic advocate of temperance and healthful living—and with good reason. Both at home and abroad Americans were notorious for their hard drinking. Cider flowed as freely as water, and every farmer was at liberty to distill his own spirits. "While the means of intoxication were so abundant," observed one critic, "the gregarious and social habits of the people tended to foster drunkenness." In response to this problem, a growing number of Americans joined local and national societies to promote temperance either by persuasion or by legislation. Among the most successful and colorful of such organizations was the Washingtonian Temperance Society, created in 1840 by six reformed drinkers in Baltimore. In cities and towns across the country Washingtonian orators "mounted upturned rum-kegs from which vantage point they related their numerous experiences with the demon, rum." Their approach proved effective; within a few years hundreds of thousands of well-intentioned drinkers had signed the Washingtonian total abstinence pledge.¹⁶

Given her background, Ellen White could scarcely have avoided joining the temperance crusade. Her home town of Portland, an import center for West Indian rum, was a hotbed of reform activity; Elizabeth Oakes Smith once called it a "pet City to the divine eye." During Ellen's childhood, the indefatigable Neal Dow kept the city astir with his campaign against "Demon Rum," which culminated in 1851 in the passage of the Maine Liquor Law, the first of many statewide prohibition laws in America. Her church, the Methodist, was likewise swept up in the temperance movement. By the 1840s no "good" Methodist would touch a drop of alcohol, and the very pious had left off tobacco as well. Young Ellen would no more have taken a drink or a smoke than she would have uttered a word of profanity.¹⁷

The Millerite movement exemplified the natural affinity between revivalism and temperance in nineteenth-century America. Father Miller, who saw the hand of the Lord in the temperance societies springing up around the country, warned the expectant saints that those who drank would be "wholly unprepared" for the Second Coming. Among his followers were reformers of every stripe, including many temperance enthusiasts. As a young Millerite preacher, James White never touched alcohol, tobacco, tea, or coffee, and a Cincinnati believer went even further by adding flesh foods to the list of forbidden articles.¹⁸

One of the most committed Millerite advocates of temperance and dietetic reform was Captain Joseph Bates, who later united with the Whites in founding the Seventh-day Adventist Church. In 1821, while returning from a voyage to South America, he resolved never again to drink a glass of ardent spirits. Over the next few years he swore off wine, then tobacco, and finally even beer and cider. In 1827 during a visit to his home in Fairhaven, Massachusetts, he was caught up in a local revival and joined the Christian church. The day of his baptism he proposed the formation of a temperance society and before long had twelve or thirteen names on his list of subscribers. On his next, and final, voyage the teetotaling captain announced to his shocked crew that there would be no intoxicating drinks on board and invited them instead to morning and evening prayers. Following his retirement from the sea Bates continued his personal reformation by espousing the cause of Sylvester Graham, a popular health reformer, and laying aside tea and coffee, meat, butter, cheese, greasy foods, and rich pastries. Although he never pushed his peculiar views on his Adventist friends, his healthy life was a constant reminder to those around him of the possible benefits of abstemious living. It seems probable that he was a major factor in leading Ellen White in 1848 to begin speaking out against the use of tobacco, tea, and coffee.¹⁹

Tobacco

In the fall of 1848 Mrs. White received the first of her many visions on healthful living. According to her husband's testimony twenty-two years later, she was then shown that tobacco, tea, and coffee should be put away by those looking for the Second Coming of Christ. (Apparently alcohol was such an obvious evil, or so little abused, it was not mentioned.)²⁰ Ellen did not identify this vision specifically, but presumably she was referring to it when she wrote: "I saw all those who are indulging self by using the filthy weed [tobacco], should lay it aside, and put their means to a better use. . . . And if all would study to be more economical in their articles of dress, and deprive themselves of some things which are not actually necessary, and lay aside such useless and injurious things as tea, &c., and give what they cost to the cause, they would receive more blessings here, and a reward in heaven." In a private letter to a brother struggling with the tobacco habit Ellen White added that her "accompanying angel" told her that the weed was not to be used even for medicinal purposes, because doing so greatly dishonored God. Although she regarded tobacco and tea as physically harmful, it is significant that in her early years she was clearly much more concerned about the money squandered on such needless items than she was about their possibly injurious effects.²¹

Now that God had spoken, tobacco began disappearing from among the sabbatarian Adventists. In September, 1849, while Bates was roaming the state of Maine seeking out "the scattered sheep," he happily reported that "pipes & Tobacco are travling [sic] out of sight fast I tell you." With the Second Coming so close, it seemed to him that nothing was "to[o] dear or precious to let go in end of the cause now." A couple of months later James White gave a similarly encouraging account of progress in New York. "Tobacco and snuff are being cleared from the camp with few exceptions," he wrote following a conference at Oswego.²²

Aside from the individual labors of Bates and the Whites, there seems to have been little anti-tobacco activity among the Adventists in the early 1850s. In fact, little was said about health at all until after February, 1854, when Ellen White received a second heavenly message on the subject, notably broader in scope than her first. In words that echoed Sylvester Graham she told of seeing that Sabbath-keepers were making "a god of their bellies," that instead of eating so many rich dishes they should take "more coarse food with little grease." "I saw," she said, "rich food destroyed the health of the bodies and was ruining the constitution, was destroying the mind, and was a great waste of means." It was also brought to her attention that the Sabbath-keepers were not as clean and tidy as God wanted them to be. Uncleanliness was not to be tolerated, and those persisting in their filthy ways were to "be put out of the camp."²³

The Adventists launched their campaign against tobacco in the summer of 1855 with two lead articles in the Review and Herald on "the filthy, health-destroying, God-dishonoring practice of using tobacco."²⁴ In this way they joined the growing number of anti-tobacco crusaders who had begun in the 1830s to speak out against the undesirable habits of their fellow citizens. Americans had long been fond of their pipes and snuffboxes, but with the rise of the common man in the Jacksonian era they took to the unsightly but time-saving practice of chewing. The ever-practical American, it was pointed out, "can saw wood, or plow, or hoe corn, at the same time while he is chewing a good 'cud' of tobacco. He can, if need be, plead before a jury, or preach a sermon, while at the same time he holds the precious bolus in one side of his mouth."²⁵ Tobacco consumption increased in the late 1840s with the popularization of the cigar during the war against Mexico. Now, complained an irritated nonsmoker, from one end of the country to the other there was "one mighty puff,—puff,—puff." Critics began calling attention to the dire consequences—from insanity to cancer—of so much tobacco using and in 1849, in conscious imitation of the temperance workers, organized the American Anti-Tobacco Society. With the outbreak of the Civil War, however, their movement came to an untimely end.²⁶

A few months after the appearance of the Review and Herald articles, the editor noted that the subject of tobacco was "engaging the attention of many of our brethren in different places." It had certainly caught the attention of the brethren in Vermont. At a general meeting in Morristown on October 15, 1855, representatives from churches throughout the state voted resolutely to withdraw "the hand of fellowship" from any member who, after being "properly admonished," continued to use tobacco. Upon returning to their home churches, however, they discovered that their enthusiasm for reform was not shared by their fellow members. Consequently, at a statewide conference a year later they rescinded their previous action and in its place unanimously adopted a milder resolution more compatible with the practices of their constituency: "Resolved, That the use of Tobacco is a fleshly lust, which wars against the soul; and therefore we will labor in the spirit of meekness, patiently and perseveringly to persuade each brother and sister who indulge in the use of it, to abstain from this evil."²⁷

Adventist leaders worked strenuously for years to get their members to break the tobacco habit. Ellen White even wrote personal testimonies on occasion to those shown her in vision as being in special need. The editors of the Review and Herald pursued an "uncompromising course" in presenting the evils of tobacco to their readers. They filled their pages with articles by prominent sabbatarian ministers like J. N. Andrews, J. H. Waggoner, and M. E. Cornell, urging the faithful to overcome "this inexcusable worldly lust." Perhaps the most persuasive argument came from the pen of James White, who pointed out the economic advantages of not using tobacco and tea. According to his calculations, if the one thousand Sabbath-keeping families all discarded those two items, ten thousand dollars would be saved annually, enough "to sustain thirty Missionaries in new fields of labor." How shameful it was, he said, that some members too poor to take the Review and Herald or to support the ministry nevertheless found sufficient cash to purchase tobacco and tea.²⁸

By the late 1850s Adventist ministers no longer smelled of tobacco, and it was impossible for users to obtain a "card of recommendation" licensing them to preach.²⁹ But among the laity, who could not so easily be controlled, tobacco continued to be a problem for years. In 1858 Elder Cornell wrote of being distressed by "the thought that some among us, who are called brethren, after all that has been written on the subject, should still persist in using the infamous weed." Three years later Elder Isaac Sanborn complained of finding tobacco among professed Sabbath-keepers in Wisconsin. And as late as 1867 there were still some members in northern Michigan who had not yet gained the victory.³⁰

Ignoring the Prophet

With the spotlight focused on tobacco, other aspects of health reform tended to get lost in the shadows. Even some of the practices Ellen saw condemned in vision received scant attention. Coffee, which had recently replaced tea as "the American beverage," was seldom mentioned. Tea was definitely frowned upon, but still too widely used to be made a test of fellowship. Often the conscience-smitten rationalized their actions by taking "part of a cup," having it "just colored," or making it "weak." Such laxity about a drink God had specifically forbidden naturally bothered some of the more scrupulous members. In an open letter appearing in the Review and Herald in 1863 Elder A. S. Hutchins took his erring brethren and sisters to task for not heeding the light the Lord had given. "Are we ashamed of the position that we as a people and organized churches have taken in regard to the use of this herb?" he asked. "If not let us live out our faith, when with tea-drinkers, as well as when with those who drink cold water."³¹

The dietary reforms of the 1854 vision seem to have been wholly ignored. The only serious question relating to food was whether or not, in light of the Old Testament ban against swine's flesh, Sabbath-keepers could properly eat pork, a staple of the American diet. On this issue the Whites stood firmly against the extremists who wanted the church to take a position against eating it. When the problem first arose in the early days of the sabbatarian movement, James wrote in the Present Truth that, although too much pork-eating could be harmful, he did "not, by any means, believe that the Bible teaches that its proper use, in the gospel dispensation, is sinful." Referring to the decision of the apostles and elders at Jerusalem not to impose certain Mosaic practices on converted Gentiles (Acts 15), he asked, "Shall we lay a greater 'burden' on the disciples than seemed good to the Holy Ghost, and the holy apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ? God forbid. Their decision, being right, settled the question with them and it should forever settle the question with us."³²

With some believers, however, the question was far from settled. They failed to see why the church should abide by one part of the Old Testament—the seventh-day Sabbath—and not another. Thus agitation over swine's flesh continued until 1858, when a vision settled the controversy. Ellen White was shown, she said, that while it was all right for individuals to refrain from eating pork, the church should not make a test of it. "If it is the duty of the church to abstain from swine's flesh," she wrote to a couple who were urging the extreme position, "God will discover it to more than two or three."³³ Later, she answered another sister's inquiry about what course to take with the reply that "if it is your husband's wish to use swine's flesh, you should be perfectly free to use it." And to make sure the point got across, James scribbled on the back of the letter: "That you may know how we stand on this question, I would say that we have just put down a two hundred pound porker."³⁴

The revival of hoop skirts in the 1850s prompted Ellen White to speak out on still another reform of the day—dress. Since childhood she had associated austere attire with true Christianity, and she wanted her followers to be known by their simplicity of dress. She herself always wore plain, durable clothing, devoid of any "unnecessary bows and ribbons." Hoops she found particularly objectionable. They were not only "ridiculous" and "disgusting" but immoral, having been devised (as she thought) by the prostitutes of Paris as "a screen to iniquity." Sabbath-keepers were to have nothing to do with this godless fashion. "Do not put on hoops by any means," she admonished one minister's wife; "let us preserve the signs which distinguish us in dress, as well as articles of faith."³⁵

By the early 1860s the sabbatarian Adventists numbered thirty-five hundred members scattered over the territory east of the Missouri River and north of the Confederacy. Since Christ still had not come, some of the brethren—led by James White—now turned their attention to establishing a church on earth. Resistance to such a move was great, however, and as a result James grew "desperately discouraged." He and his wife had invested their lives in the Advent movement, and it was difficult for them to take a detached view of things. Ellen explained their feelings in a poignant letter to her friend Lucinda Hall:

The cause of God is a part of us. Our experience and lives are interwoven with this cause. We have no separate existence. It has been a part of our very being. The believers in present truth have seemed like our children. When the cause of God prospers, we are happy. But when wrongs exist among them, we are unhappy and nothing can make us glad. The earth, its treasures and joys, are nothing to us. Our interest is not here. Is it then strange that my husband with his sensitive feelings should suffer in mind?³⁶

Birth of Seventh-day Adventism

The acquisition of church buildings and a publishing house made it imperative to set up some kind of legal entity. Thus the first step toward organization was taken in the fall of 1860 when the leaders met and, over the opposition of those who disliked any compromise with the world, selected a name. Some favored the "Church of God," but the majority finally settled on the less pretentious but more distinctive "Seventh-day Adventists." Three years later delegates from several states met in Battle Creek to complete the organizational process by adopting a constitution, approving general and state conferences, and choosing officers. Unanimously elected as first president of the General Conference was James White, who tactfully declined the appointment to forestall criticism that he had created the new institution for his own political purposes. In his place the delegates selected Elder John Byington, an ardent antislavery man, who had been one of the first in the church to speak out against current trends in ladies' fashions.³⁷

Although the early Seventh-day Adventists found the very idea of a creed anathema—"The Bible is our creed," they insisted—all members were expected to subscribe to certain doctrines and practices. Among their basic beliefs were the imminent return of Christ, the seventh-day Sabbath, the divine inspiration of Ellen White's visions, the unconscious state of the dead, and the importance of October 22, 1844, as the date on which the "investigative judgment" began in heaven. In addition, good Adventists practiced baptism by immersion, foot-washing, and "systematic benevolence," whereby members were required to give "at the rate of two cents each week upon every one hundred dollars worth of property which they possess," plus weekly donations of twenty-five cents or more. In this way the church was able to support its ministers, who had previously been sustained by gifts or their own labors.³⁸

The White Family

After years of poverty the Whites had settled down to a relatively comfortable life in the west end of Battle Creek, where they purchased an acre-and-a-half plot and built their first home. Battle Creek at midcentury was a village of a few thousand, only a decade or two removed from the wilderness. Its fame in those days before corn flakes and Rice Krispies rested on the flour and woolen mills that occupied much of the downtown area, which still had the appearance of a frontier community. Cows, pigs, and horses roamed at will through the often muddy streets, and garbage was everywhere. Churches and saloons provided for the social needs of the villagers, whose cultural lives were enriched by an occasional lecture on abolition, women's rights, or temperance. The arrival of the railroad and telegraph in the 1840s made Battle Creek an ideal center from which the Adventists could evangelize the West.³⁹

Since moving to Michigan, James had held a steady job as president of the Publishing Association and usually doubled his income (seven to ten dollars a week) selling Bibles, concordances, Bible dictionaries, and Bible atlases on the side. Ellen not only served as wife and mother to a growing family but continued to fill speaking engagements and to write her pamphlets of Testimonies for the Church, nine of which had appeared by 1863. Her diary for this period reveals a woman of extraordinary strength and adaptability. At home in Battle Creek she sewed, worked with the children in the garden, and even assisted her husband at the office folding papers or stitching book signatures. She loved her family, yet felt guilty for missing them so much whenever absent. On one trip to northern Michigan she "had a weeping time before the Lord." Her writing, so important to her, often had to be squeezed in while riding the train or visiting in the homes of others.⁴⁰

On September 20, 1860, Ellen White gave birth to her fourth baby boy, John Herbert. The delivery was apparently difficult and left her with a weak back and lame legs, which confined her to the house. She used this time unselfishly to collect clothes for some needy families and once crawled up the stairs on her knees "to get these things together for the poor." Her own suffering was increased when three-month-old Herbert contracted erysipelas and, after weeks of intense pain, passed away. His heartbroken mother was so emotionally spent by this time that she could no longer cry, but fainted at the funeral. Following the burial at Oak Hill Cemetery in Battle Creek she remained disconsolate. "This is a dark, dreary world," she confided to her diary after the death of the Loughboroughs' child that same year. "The whole human family are subject to disease, sorrow, and death."⁴¹

The Civil War that engulfed the nation during the early 1860s seldom touched the White household directly. Although Ellen was an outspoken abolitionist sympathetic to the Union cause, she counseled the church against active participation in the conflict. As editor of the Review and Herald, James reported on the progress of the war but limited his personal involvement to raising bounties for volunteers, securing conscientious objector status for Adventist draftees, and speculating on writing paper and envelopes, which netted him a quick 100 percent profit on an initial investment of twelve hundred dollars.⁴²

During the winter of 1862–63 a diphtheria epidemic swept through the country, bringing renewed anxiety to Ellen White for the safety of her remaining three sons. When two of the boys actually came down with sore throats and high fevers, her alarm increased, for medical science seemed so inadequate. Then one day she read an article from the Yates County Chronicle (Penn Yan, New York) in which a Dr. James C. Jackson described his highly successful water treatments for curing diphtheria. Hopefully she applied the hydropathic fomentations to her sick boys and met "with perfect success."⁴³ At last she had stumbled onto a system of medicine that really worked. With the fervor of a convert she began sharing her faith in hydropathy, and to her death she remained one of its staunchest advocates. The following chapter traces the rise and development of the movement she so enthusiastically joined in 1863.